


Oh Lazarus, how did your debts get paid?

by Melilla



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:33:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melilla/pseuds/Melilla
Summary: Technoblade is the god of blood. He lives in the leaking wounds on a battlefield, and in the blood of a mother giving birth. He lives in skin and flesh torn open, and skin and flesh knitting itself back together. He is life.Philza is the angel of death. He lives in empty graveyards, in cold fireplaces and fading pictures. He lives in the smoking remnants of a once great country.Life and death. Light and dark. Two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole. They were destined to fight for eternity, but not necessarily against each other.
Relationships: Phil & Technoblade
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Oh Lazarus, how did your debts get paid?

**Author's Note:**

> Am I sort of kind of obsessed with Phil and Techno's friendship? Perhaps. Am I still not over Techno's execution even though it's been months and months? Shhhhh
> 
> Title taken from Blood on My Name, by the Brothers Bright.

The first time the two of them meet, they stand on opposite sides of a battlefield. Philza carries his flaming sword, and Technoblade his axe and crossbow.

The battle is slow and brutal. Both sides shed much blood, and both lose many warriors. When at last they agree to stop, both of them have already lost. Philza smiles loftily, wings relaxed, and tells Technoblade that death will always win. Technoblade throws his head back and laughs.

A treaty is written, splitting the land in half. It is a long time before life and death meet each other again.

***

Years later, they will sit in the snow together, mugs of lavender tea warming their hands in the cold.

“Did you know that pigs have to have their tails cut off as babies, in case of injuries?” Technoblade will say, trying too hard to sound casual, the edge in his voice clear as day. “If there’s even a little blood, the other pigs will attack.”

***

It’s funny how much can change in a decade or so. When Phil sees Technoblade again, his rival is milder, the need for blood that was so apparent before quieter, though no less strong. It’s a pity. When Phil hears of a new medic who always seems to keep patients alive no matter the injury, Phil sighs.

Of course, Technoblade is still a good fighter, but the way he cuts down people on the battlefield is less reckless now. He always seems to know how much a person can take before they die, and he stays inches from that threshold. Maybe he was like this before, but it’s so much more _obvious_ now. Phil grits his teeth as Technoblade leaves a soldier unconscious, another one wounded but still breathing. It’s like he’s trying to bait him.

Fine. Usually, Phil doesn’t hunt down his prey himself. He’s used to staying by the sidelines, waiting, watching. Death is patient, after all. But with Technoblade so blatantly _flaunting_ the lives of these soldiers who should be dead, Phil is starting to grow impatient.

Technoblade is a blur of motion on the battlefield, unpredictable yet strangely graceful. Phil is the opposite, not moving more than he has to, and when he does have to, his motions are coldly efficient. 

There’s a moment when their swords clash and Phil is face to face with his enemy, and then the tides of the battle sweep them away, and Phil is left panting slightly, blood splattered across his face and wings.

***

“The point of life is to die,” Phil will argue on a cloudy evening that stubbornly refuses to snow.

“Then is the point of death to live?” Techno will ask, not really paying attention.

“No, of course not. I - mate, that’s not-”

“Then what is it?” Techno presses. “Is the point of death to die, too? Can death die?”

“I don’t think so,” Phil says. “No, that wouldn’t make sense. Death can’t die.”  
“Hm.”

“So,” Phil continues. “If death can’t die, then can life ever really live?”

Technoblade doesn’t answer. The sticky sweetness of honey from Techno’s bees lingers on Phil’s tongue.

***

They are guards in castles in opposing territories, and then they’re fighting again, and their blades are meeting more and more frequently in battles, now, but they still never manage to land a hit on each other and then. And then they’re participating in a tournament together, and Phil isn’t sure how or why they got here, or why he’s practically wheezing over Techno’s jokes, which are all delivered in that perfect monotone of his. There’s a warmth to Techno's smile, and they fight together perfectly, and Phil doesn’t regret joining him.

They win the tournament, of course. Phil finds it hard to imagine any other outcome. He isn’t sure why, exactly, he hated Techno so much before. When he asks where Techno’s heading next, and Techno says that he’ll be heading back to hypixel, Phil can’t help but feel a pang of sadness.

“See you around,” Techno says, lifting a hand in a half wave half salute.

“See you mate,” Phil says and feels brighter than he has in centuries.

***

“You didn’t need to do that.”  
“Do what?”

There is surprisingly little blood, Phil will note or at least surprisingly little blood that isn’t Techno’s. He sucks in a breath.

“You don’t need to _fucking feed me,_ Techno,” he’ll say.

“How do you know I wasn’t feeding myself?” Techno’s voice is, as ever, calm and almost placid, a stark contrast to Phil’s shrillness. It’s maddening. His wings flare out involuntarily.

“You don’t need to fucking kill people to feed yourself!’

“Hm,” is all Techno says as he moves to the sink to wash the blood off of his hands, opening a cabinet to get bandages. Phil’s breaths steam in the frigid air.

“Listen,” he says, and Techno glances up. “I am death. I do not starve. I do not need you to feed me.”

“Just because you don’t starve doesn’t mean you don’t get hungry,” Techno says, sitting down so he can wrap up his injuries.

“I’m fine, mate. You don’t have to do this. I’ll sleep it of or something-”

“You’ll sleep it off?” Techno repeats. If Phil didn’t know better, he’d say that Techno was incredulous, or hysterical. “Do you remember how long you slept the last time you said that? Nations rose and fell! Wilbur had a kid!”

“So?” Phil says. “People live to die. It doesn’t matter what I miss in their lives.”

His tone is too callous, too careless, too cold, and he doesn’t really mean that, and Techno knows he doesn’t, but still. He said it.

“Phil,” Techno says, his voice softening slightly. “If I’m life, then I can never really live, right?”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“But you’re death. You _can._ So live.”  
  


***

The next time he sees Technoblade on a battlefield, they’re on the same side and laughing as they chase down enemy planes and cut down soldiers.

Techno is less careful now - he lets himself kill, and corpses and bodies pile on fields. For some reason, the sight fills Phil with guilt - not for the deaths, not exactly, but for the fact that Techno is obviously doing it for him.

Techno will promise the world to him later, and Phil will try not to hear the words, try to avoid the crushing responsibility that comes with such unwavering loyalty. Life is not supposed to kill. Life can hurt. Life can spill blood. But life is not supposed to kill. 

What has he done to make Technoblade turn against his very nature? What has he done to earn this loyalty? What has Technoblade seen in him?  
They build up their empire, and Phil loves it, loves the biting cold and the palace that Techno built and the dogs that follow his friend everywhere. This must be what home is - this warmth that has sunk its teeth into his chest and curls around him during the night. This must be what family is.

***

There are some bonds, forged in fire and steel, that can’t be broken. Sometimes, things can become so mixed, so intertwined with one another, that it’s impossible to distinguish where the first starts and the second begins, much less try to untangle them.

Perhaps Techno is more efficient now, and maybe he’s less messy when he kills. Perhaps Phil is more merciful now, and perhaps he doesn’t mind the still warm blood that spells from the bodies of the people he’s killed.

Still, Phil is, and always will be, the angel of death. Some days, he wishes he could reject that moniker, divorce it from his face and features and wings and go off into some abandoned world and never be recognized again.

Here is one possibility for how the execution goes.

Maybe, the reason he doesn’t kill L’manburg’s army when they come to his door is because he’s sure Techno can do it himself if he chooses to, and he doesn’t want to get blood on his rug. Maybe, when they lead his friend back to their country, an axe to Techno’s back and a horse dragged by its reins behind them, he has trouble quelling the rage that bubbles up in him.

Phil had often voiced his opinion on totems in the past - a cheap means to escape death temporarily, with no real gain. Maybe he has never felt more grateful for their existence now, and maybe, as he watches Techno clamber out of the cage that L’manburg made for him and chase after his horse, he finally lets out the breath he’s been holding.

Maybe.

***

Things are good for a while, and then things get boring, and then Technoblade leaves. Phil leaves not long afterwards. He hears rumors of his friend, who is apparently back on Hypixel, farming potatoes. Phil doesn’t really understand, but he’s not surprised - Technoblade has always had a penchant for farming and growing things. He hears about a competition and almost feels bad for whoever is trying to beat Techno.

He drifts. He sleeps some - no that’s not true. He sleeps a lot, and then he doesn’t, and then he finds out about a child and a nation and destruction, and he tastes death, so close but he keeps his distance. Techno has it covered.

He finds himself a world and starts building. This is not what death is supposed to do, but lately, he’s been feeling a little sick of sticking to his role. Technoblade doesn’t, anyway. No one would equate the blood god with life, and yet. And yet.

And then he’s called to Dream’s world, where flying isn’t allowed and Dream’s power drapes, net like, over the shoulders of its occupants. And then he’s in a room, and Wilbur is there, and Wilbur is talking about a nation, about a place he says doesn’t exist anymore, and Phil doesn’t understand because he was asleep, and how did so much happen in that time, but he knows the place that Wilbur’s talking about is outside and the sun is shining.

He tries to talk Wilbur down. He tries to convince him not to push the button. The blast is powerful enough to burn his feathers, and then he’s standing there, wings crooked and broken and eyes stinging from the smoke, and Wilbur is asking him to kill him and-

And he feels the side of him that is a god through and through rise, the part of him that doesn’t care about the adventures and suffering of these frivolous humans, the part of him that would happily raise the sword and run it through his friend, and he tries to push it down, and he tries and he tries and why isn’t that enough? Why isn’t that ever enough?

It takes two swings to kill his friend. It takes far longer to get the scent of burning flesh out of his nostrils.

It has been a long time since Phil stood against Technoblade. The words that Wilbur whispered as he was dying echo in Phil’s ears. What Wilbur was saying didn’t sound like Techno, or at least not the Techno Phil knew, but he was asleep for who knows how long and a lot has changed.

He hides his guilt when he sees Techno’s face, which, for a fraction of a second, is full of hurt and surprise. Then it smooths over, a blank wall, and it hurts because it’s been a long time since he hasn’t been able to read his friend. He hides his surprise when Techno only summons two instead of the eight that Wilbur had promised.

It is only after the dust has settled and graves have been made for the two former leaders of L’manburg that Phil realizes that he's’ been lied to. Techno accepts his apologies and explanations impassively, nodding once. His face is still a mask, and Phil knows that the damage has already been done.

***

“The problem,” Techno will say, voice rising, arms wide open and face unguarded for the first time in months, “isn’t that you chose them over me. The problem is that you didn’t even think to ask me why! The problem is that I gave you all of my trust, all of myself, and you still haven’t decided whether or not it’s worth giving anything back! Why did you ever fight with me if you trusted me this little?”

Phil can only stand in the snow, the wind threading icy fingers through his hair, and listen. He wants to tell Techno that he’s sorry, that he didn’t think to ask because everyone else was already shouting the answer, that it didn't excuse anything, that he just wants a chance to start over. He says nothing. He bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, and he’s glad he can feed Technoblade in some small way.

***

Maybe the execution goes differently. Maybe there’s no compass or friendship emeralds, and the Butcher army is forced to wander for days until they stumble upon a cottage in the arctic. Maybe, in spite of everything, Technoblade opens his doors and lets them in, only to be killed by the people he’d allowed himself to trust again.

Or maybe L’manburg’s citizens do go to Phil for help, and when the angel of death has nothing to give them, they destroy his home and his belongings, the flames stopping just shy of L’manburg. Maybe there are two executions that day.

Perhaps Phil, guilt ridden and desperate to see his friend, goes with the army looking for blood, unknowing of what they plan. Maybe he finds a person at peace, bees buzzing in the background and turtles splashing in a pond. Maybe Techno can only stare at him, betrayed for the second time, as he is led to his death by the people who promised him safety, who promised him freedom.

***

There are bees droning on a sunny winter day, and lavender tea on the counter, and Technoblade’s house is empty.

Phil takes the time to mourn his death. L’manburg has dug its own grave. So what if he makes it a little deeper? So what if his ceaseless guilt is driving him mad, and he’ll be broken and probably insane by the time he’s done? So what if, for the first time in his life, he wants blood?

Maybe it runs in the family.

Technoblade’s domain wasn’t just the blood of a battlefield. He was the blood of a mother giving birth, the blood of a lamb being led to the slaughter, the blood of the sacrifice. Phil promises himself that he’ll feed his friend one last time.

***

Hold an egg in your hands and think how easy it would be to break it. Hold this life in your hands and wonder what it would be like to kill it.

Here is a secret: if life could never truly live, then death can never truly die, but there are ways to break a person that don’t involve death. Here is a secret: when L’manburg is a crater for the second time, and Phil stands above the rubble, not a single life has been taken. People talk about luck. There is no luck involved.

Here is a secret: wings are things that grow in the soul even before they become real. No one, not even a god, can get wings before the universe deems them worthy. 

Phil gives up his wings that day. He keeps a single feather, and leaves it by Techno’s grave.


End file.
